


Are We Growing Up, Or Just Going Down?

by alexabarton



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Identity, Teenlock, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:52:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2388875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexabarton/pseuds/alexabarton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its John Watson's first week at Uni and he can't quite manage to break up with his girlfriend. On a night out with Mike he goes to see a band and catches the eye of a sexy bass guitarist. Is John ready for what happens next?</p><p>PREQUEL TO 'DEDUCE MY RUINED HEART' SERIES</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are We Growing Up, Or Just Going Down?

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Падаем или взлетаем?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3607572) by [Asheria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asheria/pseuds/Asheria)



> This is just a little one-off that popped into my head after listening to the FOB track XO, and wouldn't leave until I spewed it out like word vomit. The title also comes from the opening lines of the FOB track 'Sophomore Slump Or Comeback Of The Year'. I swear I'm not obsessed - I just happened to have this CD on in my car for about the past month and it put dirty little Johnlocky ideas in my head!
> 
> Update : This is now the prequel to the 'Deduce My Ruined Heart Series' , which continues the adventure from exactly where this one ends (Part 1A, if you like,)

John Watson shuffled his feet impatiently, and fiddled nervously with his freshers week wristband, his pass to an endless round of parties and pub crawls (and at £25 quid each he was bloody well going to make sure he got his money’s worth).  
That was why he was currently standing, freezing his bollocks off in a t-shirt and jeans at 10pm on a Monday night outside the Student Union bar.  
He and his friend, Mike Stamford had arrived at the University campus on Thursday afternoon, finally escaping the suffocating small town where they had both spent the first eighteen years of their lives, celebrating the event by spending the next three days in a semi-alcoholic haze. John doubted whether they would make it to Christmas with their livers still intact.

Finally, there was a flurry of movement as the doors opened and a team of student union reps began frantically scanning bar codes on wrist bands and ushering them all though to a cavernous hall. Generic dance music pulsed and thumped through the sound system so loud that John could feel it beating in his throat. Mike grabbed his arm and pulled him over to a crowded bar where harassed looking bar staff were handing out plastic pint cups of cheap lager. Mike took two and passed one over to John.  
‘I don’t think this is the best idea mate, I’m already sweating this shit out of my pores’. John took a sip anyway and grimaced at the sour, slightly warm taste. ‘Christ this tastes like piss’.  
‘Just chug it down mate, I’m not drinking water, we’ll look like a right couple of gayboys’., Mike laughed as he scanned the crowded hall, probably looking for those girls from their floor in the halls of residence, thought John. They had been invited to a party at their flat the night before and Mike had been very keen on a pretty brunette called Molly or Holly or something, John couldn’t quite remember. On the other hand, he did remember a blonde girl called Lisa who had cornered him in the kitchen, told him he was ‘cute’ and abruptly palmed his cock. He had pushed her away with his stock excuse ‘sorry I’ve got a girlfriend’ and spent the next hour pretending to text her while really he was texting his sister Harry.  
John did actually have a girlfriend, that hadn’t been a lie, but he knew it wasn’t fair to use her as an excuse to get rid of unwanted attention when he was currently trying to think of the kindest way to finish with her. That was why he been texting Harry, for advice. She was a girl, surely she would know what he should do?  
Right on cue he felt his phone ping in his jeans:

  
 **Done the deed yet little bro? Do I need to go round and dry Sara’s tears?**

  
**Fuck off Harry – and no, not yet.**

  
**Grow a pair Watson, stop trying to be so nice to everyone all the time. Think about yourself for once.**

  
**I feel like a dick though.**

  
**So what? She’s gone to Uni too. She’s probably sucking some other guy’s dick right now. Just end it already.**

  
John sighed. He knew she was right. He and Sara hadn’t been okay for at least a couple of months now. She wanted to take things further and he didn’t. There was no way he was going to talk to any of his mates about it. How the hell would they possibly understand that you didn’t want to fuck your girlfriend? It was a relief to put some distance between them now that they were both at different universities, but now John had to face up to the truth, he didn’t fancy Sara any more, in fact he wasn’t sure he ever really had.  
A screech of feedback from the stage brought John back to reality, and he found himself swept towards the front of the hall by a press of bodies. Mike had disappeared from view.

  
The headline band for the night **XO** , were getting ready on stage, checking amps and mics and tuning guitars. John could feel the ripple of anticipation through the crowd. The girls last night had been talking about the band, one of them knew the drummer apparently, some guy called Anderson, and the general opinion was that the lead singer was hot. No mention about whether the music was any good, just that this guy, Gary or Greg or something was very shaggable. Christ, thought John, girls were almost as shallow as boys. Although he had to admit, the guy was annoyingly good-looking in a dark, tanned, muscular way, the git.

  
There was a collective gasp as the hall went temporarily black before the spotlight picked out the figure of the bass guitarist, strumming out the opening chords, then light and sound erupted once again. John dropped his half empty cup on the floor as the room vibrated around him, bodies pushing and jumping. He knew from experience that the middle was a bad place to be, where you felt that the air was being squeezed from your lungs and your feet barely stayed in contact with the floor. He pushed his way over to the right – hand side of the stage, using his elbows to plow his way through receiving a fair few insults along the way, and came to a stop just metres away from the bass guitarist. He had his head down, fingers flying over the strings, foot tapping out the beat. A tall thin body clad in a tight white tee, faded tight black jeans and scruffy black Converse hi-tops, with a mop of soft dark wavy hair which flopped down over his forehead and curled around his ears. He lifted his head to look out into the audience and John felt his blood turn to ice.

  
Piercing eyes washed almost translucent by the bright stage lights stared out of the most incredible face John had ever seen. Pale skin, cheekbones like fucking razorblades, and that mouth…but fuck, he looked even younger than John.

  
Shit. Fuck. John felt uncomfortably hot and slightly faint. This was so wrong. He should find Mike and leave, now, but his feet remained stubbornly rooted to the floor.  
The uncomfortable clenching in his gut intensified as those pale eyes locked with his and held his gaze. He knew he must look utterly ridiculous, mouth gaping like a fish, but he just couldn’t look away, heart hammering in his chest. The boy smirked slightly and then bowed his head over his guitar in concentration. The moment passed.

  
What even was that? He thought desperately. He could hardly ask Mike could he? – imagine how that conversation would go:  
“Hey Mike, I just saw this guy and I feel kind of breathless, then he looked at me and it went straight to my cock?” Seriously, no, that was never going to happen. Harry then. It’ll be completely humiliating but girls know about that stuff right?

  
 **At a concert. A guy looked at me**.

  
 **Did you spill your drink or something you moron ! NO FIGHTING!!**

  
**No – I mean _looked_ looked** **  
**

**Excellent! Is he hot?**

**Be serious Harry I’m freaking out a bit**

  
**Why? You’re clearly not into Sara. Don’t think so much – just go have yourself a little adventure Johnny. I want details though haha**

  
**Fuck off Harry**

**And pictures!**

This conversation was clearly getting out of hand thought John, as he elbowed his way out of the crush towards the makeshift bar area. It was straying into territory that he wasn’t sure he was ready to acknowledge. Water, he needed a drink and some air, a bit of space to think, then he would find Mike and head back. Satisfied with this plan he grabbed a bottle of water and made his way over to an exit sign to the right of the stage, pushing the door open to be greeted by the welcome blast of air conditioning. A short dimly lit corridor stretched out in front of him, with three doors spaced at intervals down the right hand side. The wall on the left was bare save for a few old tattered posters which fluttered in the breeze from an open fire door at the bottom of the passage. John guessed it probably led to the back yard or alleyway and was tempted forward by the promise of fresh night air. There was no-one else around and any sound from the hall was muffled and indistinct.

  
His foot wasn’t even over the threshold when he felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck – not alone then. He turned his head to the right just out of the doorway, his nose wrinkling slightly at the distinctive smell of cigarette smoke, which he could now see curling in the air around a slight figure, leaning laconically against the outer wall.

  
“You!” was all he could manage to stutter out, his eyes widening as he contemplated backing up the way he had come. But no, that would be ridiculous, he would make more of a fool of himself than he already felt.

  
He cleared his throat. Start again Watson you idiot.  
“Hi, erm, good gig by the way, very… erm” he trailed off hopelessly (ohgodohgodohgod I am so out of my depth right now. Harry I hate you)

The boy leaned forward, eyes seeming to appraise every inch of John who shifted uncomfortably. He felt like a specimen under a microscope.

  
Christ knew what the guy saw, but he leaned forward, stretching a long slender arm out and calmly offered John a cigarette from a crumpled pack with the arch of an eyebrow.

  
“Er, no thanks, I don’t smoke, those things will kill you”, he laughed nervously ( nervous laughing? Seriously? How much of a girl are you?)  
“Well, anyway, I just wanted to say…you were really good out there, amazing I mean.”

  
“Oh God. Do you actually want to talk about music? I thought perhaps you wanted to get off with me”, said the fucking sexiest voice John had ever heard in his entire life. He really had chosen to worst possible time to take a swig of water from the bottle. Liquid sprayed out onto the ground at his feet as he desperately tried to quell the agonized choking.

  
“Shit, Christ! No – I’m not actually gay!”, John spluttered helplessly.

  
The boy regarded him cooly, completely unruffled, “Yes”, he drawled, “ you say that, but do you even think that’s entirely true?”

  
“What do you mean? No, really, I have a girlfriend”, said John, protesting his innocence to the last.

  
“Well, you’ve been considering breaking it off all night – you’ve been texting someone, a lot, but not your girlfriend, someone close then? Not a parent, no 18 year old fresh to university would ever text a parent that much on a night out, and not a male friend either, guys just don’t do that, and you’re here with your friends anyway”.

  
As he was saying all this in a rapid quick fire stream, he was moving closer and closer to John, invading his personal space completely, crowding him back against the wall. John could neither move nor breathe.

  
“So, conclusion, you were seeking the advice of a female friend or most likely, relative, probably sister, older, on how to break up with your girlfriend. Am I right?”.

  
John’s ability to think and to form coherent sentences had, however, gone temporarily offline, owing to the close proximity of a lean firm body pressed teasingly up against his own and a warm hand ghosting gently down his side, over his hip bone. His cock gave a traitorous twitch in his jeans. The hand dipped further down and John thought that he would really just die now, right where he was standing, but then the pressure was gone and he was left alone and slightly trembling against the crumbling bricks as the figure twirled away holding something aloft.

  
His phone. His bloody phone! The bastard!

  
“Aha, multiple texts to… Harry?”. The tall boy squinted in obvious confusion as John lunged for the phone, which was held easily out of his reach.

  
“Harry is short for Harriet you idiot now give it back”.

  
“ Ah, so I was right…. _.John_ ”, laughed the boy, tossing the phone back to him. “So, tell me, what’s this I hear about having an adventure?”

  
So he had managed to read some of them. So what. He couldn’t possibly know that he was the subject of most of them could he? John saw his evil grin and knew that he bloody well did know, and more worryingly, John wasn’t actually sure he even cared any more. Much.

  
“Well John, I think that can be arranged”

  
Before John even had time to process the new direction his thoughts were taking he was dragged into secluded passageway, drenched in shadow, away from the CCTV camera blinking above the fire exit, and backed into the wall. Again.

  
“Oomph”, his breath released in a soft gasp as his back made contact with the bricks.  
“Do….Ah….you …ah…do this often?”, he cringed at his own lack of eloquence.

  
“The names Sherlock by the way, just in case you were wondering, and I play bass in a rock band, so what do you think?

  
John had absolutely no idea what he did think, because right now, all that he could focus on were warm firm lips pressing against his own, and warm hands sliding under the material of his t-shirt, thumbs drawing lazy circles across his abdomen.  
He responded on pure instinct, tilting his head to the side and parting his lips. Sherlock responded immediately, sliding his tongue gently over John’s bottom lip and gently catching the soft flesh in his teeth. John moaned slightly, bringing his hand up to grasp the nape of Sherlock’s neck, fingers tangling in the soft dark curls as he pulled him closer to deepen the kiss. Sherlock inched forward, pressing his right thigh in between John’s legs, the height difference apparent as John felt a shiver of delicious friction against the front of his jeans. He was already hard. The warning signals and protests inside his head, the cries of ‘not gay’ and ‘what the fuck are you doing, this is a guy’, were kicked and trampled under the realisation that this felt so unbelievably fucking good and he was not going to stop this, he really wanted this. He didn’t care that he didn’t even know this guy and that he still kind of had a girlfriend, this was just too hot and dirty and perfect to stop now.  
Sherlock broke the kiss and bent his head further down, running a hot silky tongue along John’s jawline to his earlobe. He pulled it into his mouth sucking gently. The sensation was overwhelming, sending shockwaves of sheer want down John’s spine. John’s right hand moved down to squeeze one perfect globe of Sherlock’s arse, which John was thrilled to find elicited a strangled gasp from the other boy. His breath puffed out hotly against John’s neck. John’s hips bucked forward involuntarily.  
Encouraged, Sherlock licked a stripe up from John’s collarbone and across his neck, pausing over the pulse point, and gently parted his lips to suck and nibble at the delicate skin. He pulled away slightly to appraise the mark he had made, licking over the lightly bruised area.  
John huffed out a laugh, wondering how he was going to explain that one. It was too high up to be hidden by any shirt collar, and it was too warm for a scarf. He wondered vaguely if that had been Sherlock's intention.  
  
John gasped as he felt Sherlock’s hand on his belt buckle, and Sherlock pulled away, raising and eyebrow in silent question. “Okay?”, he said, raggedly. John was aware he was panting slightly now, each breath dragged from his lungs. He needed Sherlock’s mouth back on his right now, he needed more. Any last vestiges of resistance he may have had crumbled away.

  
“Just do it”, he hissed.

  
Sherlock needed no further sign. Nimble fingers deftly undid John’s belt and popped open the top button of his jeans. John tensed slightly, hands placed awkwardly on Sherlock’s hips, eyes clenched shut and head pressing back against the wall. A slight hesitation, then his zip slowly unfurled, releasing the pressure on his trapped and aching cock. He couldn’t remember being this hard or desperate in his life, his cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment as the cool night air pricked at his skin, picking out the wet patch of precome on his pants. He shivered slightly.

  
Sherlock, however, was not put off in the slightest.

  
“Shit John, you have no idea how fucking hot you look right now do you?”

  
John could only manage an incoherent groan as a combination of fear and want rendered him incapable of normal speech.

  
“Shit, fuck…oh god”, the words burst forth in shock as his prick was enveloped in warm wet heat. The sensation was almost overwhelming and John could feel his body reflexively trying to pull away. A calming hand pressed into his hip and stroked gently, steadying him. He reached out for the hand and long fingers linked with his own, gripping tightly.  
John had only done this once before, with Sara, but that awkward and rushed attempt (he didn’t come and she wouldn’t stop saying sorry) wasn’t in the same fucking universe as this.  
Sherlock licked a long stripe from the base of his cock to the head, massaging the frenulum with the flat of his tongue and laving over the glans. John could feel a swirl of intense heat pool in the pit of his stomach, his thighs shaking as Sherlock hollowed his cheeks and swallowed him down almost to the base. John wondered vaguely about gag reflexes. He could feel the familiar tension building. He was close, but he didn’t want this to end, not yet.

  
“Sh...Sherlock”, he gasped, tugging gently on the dark curls buried somewhere in his crotch.

  
Sherlock pulled off reluctantly and looked up, mouth swollen and wet. John thought he was going to die.

  
“Too close, come ‘ere”, he motioned for Sherlock to stand, dragging him into another bruising kiss, all heat and teeth and tongues and no technique.

  
John knew then how he wanted this to go. “Together”, he breathed into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock moaned and pressed his forehead against John’s, then nodded quickly in affirmation.  
Between them they managed to unfasten Sherlock’s jeans, fingers bumping and tangling in their haste, then John pushed them down his slender thighs, the tight material making him huff in frustration. (“stupid tight fucking jeans”). Sherlock laughed against his neck. “ A bit keen are we?”  
“Don’t you dare laugh, you fucking started this”, John growled, silencing Sherlock by pressing his tongue firmly into his open mouth. Sherlock could only manage a “nnggh” in response.

  
The thought of Sherlock with his mouth stuffed full again was very appealing, and only served to fuel John’s arousal. Two pairs of hands pushed frantically at their underwear, erections springing free from the confines of tight cotton, Sherlock bent at the knees slightly to bring them into alignment. The sensation was incredible, just like that, pressed close together, heat against heat, but increasing to a ridiculous degree as Sherlock’s large hand wrapped around them both and began slowly pumping and gliding, hand slick with precome, thumb flicking idly over both heads before moving back down. John felt his knees buckle as a tingling pressure began to build, his hand joining Sherlock, increasing the friction as his hips began to buck rhythmically, fucking into their combined fists. Sherlock was obviously losing control too, damp curls clinging to his forehead, breath coming out in ragged gasps.

  
“Ah…ah…ahh”.

  
The pants and moans increased. Someone was sure to come out soon and catch them. The fucking fire door was open for fuck’s sake. The fear and thrill of being caught, in public wanking against a wall with another boy finally tipped John over the edge. His balls felt tight and hot, his entire body thrumming with tension, and then he was coming, hard. Warm sticky stripes of semen landing on Sherlock’s abdomen, dripping down into his pubic hair.  
“Oh shit , sor…ry”, was all John managed to blurt out, as Sherlock captured his mouth in another bruising kiss as he reached his own climax. John could feel Sherlock’s cock pulsing in his hand as their movements slowed, and they stood still, panting like they had just run a marathon.

  
“So, are you okay ‘Not Gay John’?”

  
John blushed crimson, which was ridiculous after what they had just done.

  
“Fuck off, you massive dick”, but John was laughing as he said it, tucking himself back into his pants and pulling his jeans up his freezing cold thighs.  
“That was the maddest thing I’ve ever done, you’re insane, clearly, but yes, I’m fine”.

  
Sherlock smirked. “If that’s the maddest thing you've ever done, then clearly my insane influence is badly needed. Maybe we could….”

  
But John didn’t get to hear what they maybe could do, as deep, slightly gruff voice rang out across the courtyard,

  
“Sherlock!, I know you’re fucking out here caus I can see one of your poncey cigarette butts on the step. We need to go now – some of us have work tomorrow”.

  
“Who the fuck is that?”, whispered John, mortified. He definitely did not want to be caught skulking out of a darkened corner, with Sherlock looking so obviously well-fucked.  
Sherlock sighed and shrugged in apology, stepping out into the dim light radiating from the open doorway.

  
“I’m still here, am I’m not deaf, he snarked, glaring defiantly at a tall, muscular guy in his mid-twenties, John estimated, but who already had a generous smattering of silver mixed with the dark chocolate brown at his temples. John recognised him vaguely as the lead singer of the band as he shuffled out nervously behind Sherlock, trying and failing to be inconspicuous.

  
“ Nice one Sherlock, classy, shagging behind the bins you dirty little fuck”, said the guy, but his tone was one of amusement not disgust John was relieved to note, and there was no hint of surprise either.

  
“We were not behind the bins Greg”, retorted Sherlock, trying his best to look affronted, “ But I don’t deny the other. Anyway what do you care?”

  
Greg laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t you snarky little shit, but you know what a tight reign Mycroft wants you on at the minute. You know, you being underage and everything”.

  
John was smacked back to reality in an instant.  
“Fuck.. underage… you….?” he spluttered.

  
Sherlock shoved him gently in the shoulder. “Relax for fucks sake, he means alcohol not sex, this is a licensed premises and I’m only 17”.

  
John’s cheeks flamed hotly again at the mention of sex in front of Greg.

  
“Yeah well, Mycroft couldn’t be sure what you were doing back there, you were awfully keen to get out of sight”.

  
John really felt like he was missing something very important here. Greg must have caught his look of confusion.

  
“You know the saying ‘Big Brother is watching you?’

  
John nodded mutely.

  
“Well in his case that is literally true”, Greg jerked his thumb at Sherlock, who scowled back, a look of dark loathing marring his face.

  
John watched Greg dissolve into laughter as Sherlock turned pointedly to the CCTV camera above the fire door and flipped it off yelling, “Fuck Off Mycroft !”.

  
“Seriously mate, we need to go now”, Greg pressed again, more impatiently this time. “Me and Anderson are on early shift tomorrow, and I would like a couple of hours sleep. I promised Mycroft I’d have you back by one”.

  
“How fucking tedious. I’m not a child”, growled Sherlock, but there was no real protest in his voice and he moved to follow Greg to the metal gate at the other side of the courtyard which now stood open, a blue transit van visible, engine running.  
He glanced back at John, shrugging apologetically, and John hated himself for standing there like a nervous adolescent waiting for a kiss goodnight or promise of some future date. Sherlock’s ‘maybe we could..’ hovered in the air between them.

  
“Can we drop you somewhere?”

  
Sherlock’s sonorous voice echoed through the empty courtyard, and a small spark ignited in John’s chest as he caught a hint of hope in his tone.  
John mentally kicked himself as he answered, “Er, no, its fine, I’m just over there on campus”, he gestured vaguely to the right. He would’ve looked like an idiot accepting a lift for about 50 metres, but that did little to quell the disappointment.

  
Barely an hour. That’s how long it had been. Sixty minutes and his entire world had gone spinning off its axis to God knows where, and now he was left watching a dark blue van turn the corner and disappear into the night. He shivered, realising how cold it was in the early hours, turned in the opposite direction and headed back to campus.

  
His phone pinged in his jeans pocket.  
He barely glanced at the number, Harry.

**So little bro, how did the adventure go?**

  
John decided to go for the humorous approach:

  
 **I kissed a boy and I liked it? Haha – JW**

  
The phone pinged back almost immediately

  
 **Really John? – You flatter me – SH**

  
John’s brow furrowed, then he gasped. That cheeky git had not only read his texts, he’d put a number in his phone under Harry’s name. He really was an arsehole (but an arsehole with the most incredible mouth and a gorgeous arse – his traitorous brain supplied).  
John thought for a minute, trying desperately to conjour up images of Sara, naked in his bed, touching her, soft skin, plush breasts – he felt nothing. Slowly the images in his mind changed to soft dark curls, hard, slender, surprisingly muscular body, sharp cheekbones and sinful mouth – his cock gave an involuntary twitch. Damn it Watson, what the fuck do you do now?

  
His phone pinged impatiently.

  
 **Bored. Care for another adventure? – SH**

  
**God yes – JW**

  
**Be outside your flat in ten minutes. Bring a coat. Could be dangerous. – SH**

  
John had no idea how Sherlock knew where his flat was, or how he planned to get there, but he didn’t doubt for a second that in ten minutes time he would be standing there, waiting for him, John Watson, and John would be ready – ready for whatever adventure and insanity lay ahead. But first he hoped, a kiss.


End file.
